The Other Side of the Story
by TheClassof1832
Summary: We all know the classic Enjolras: blonde, independent, passionate. What if there was another side to the glorious Apollo? One that no one knew about? Read and review, please! I love my readers! Enj/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, lovely mizzies! After a very long hiatus, I have returned, with very fresh ideas! This story is somewhat a study of the human personality, but in a 19th century way. Our subject is the godly Enjolras (movie!jolras, Aaron Tveit, if you want to know where my descriptions come from), and the premise is that no matter how "good" you pretend to be, there is always some bad hidden in there somewhere. But some are much better at hiding it, compared to others. This story will also feature a new OC who has been worked on my myself and DonJuana19, who I hope will make her successful return to the Les Mis section of this site as well. Happy Reading!**

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_Dong. Dong. Dong._

He had often mused about how much he would love to remove the bells of Notre Dame... Especially after nights like the one he had last night. Enjolras slowly rolled out of bed, his head, thankfully, not pounding like he had expected. Last night's clothes were strewn about the cold, wood floor, from when he had staggered to bed. Memories of last night's revels flashed through his head; a brunette, mostly. The wine had flowed heavily that night as well, and the dark circles he spied under his eyes when he looked in the mirror illustrated that plainly. It was obvious that he would have to steal some powder from Mme. Hucheloup before the Les Amis meeting that evening. That wouldn't hide the shadows from his classmates at the university, for he was known to stay up late reading til' the wee hours of the morning, so no one would be that shocked or suspicious.

His morning routine followed its usual path; he freshened up, put on a pot of coffee, and got dressed. He wore his favorite coat that day, the scarlet one, which created great contrast with his wild, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Enjolras kept his cravat loose, not liking the choked feeling it gave him when he wore it the proper way. The bells tolled again when he was on his second cup of coffee, telling him to go to the university, or risk being late. Enjolras made his way down the stairs of his flat, out the door, and onto the street below. He wished he had more time in the morning, as he had wasted an entire pot of coffee. The coffee would remain untouched until the evening, when he would rinse it out for the next hurried morning.

Despite the early hour, the streets in Paris's Latin Quarter were already bustling. Students were pouring out of flats, making their way toward the Sorbonne. Some were wandering into bakeries, in attempt to scavenge a good breakfast. Others carried lunch baskets with them, having risen earlier than the scavengers, and were more fiscally responsible than most of their colleagues. Enjolras spied his fellow Ami Courfeyrac wandering out of a bakery with a small crepe in hand, and his clothes had a frantic look to them, as if he had hurriedly thrown them on after sleeping in. Courfeyrac saw Enjolras and waved to him, running toward him like a mad man.

"I had QUITE the night, my friend," he informed, stuffing the crepe he had into his mouth. "Pretty blonde. Liked wine. Must've been a chorus girl or something because I have NEVER seen a woman stretch like she did!" Courfeyrac looked off into the distance, as if recalling his night's conquest fondly. "Say, what did you do last night, old man? Stay in with a pot of tea and an old book again?" Enjolras rolled his eyes, but could not afford to tell Courfeyrac the truth.

"Yes, as I see no need for the frivolous parties that you so love to attend. I sat in my favorite chair, with a quilt, and read _The Spirit of the Laws_ until ten. Then I went to bed," Enjolras replied. Courfeyrac just chuckled, as that type of evening was extra dry and boring. Just as he was about to speak again, Combeferre joined the two of them, carrying his textbooks in one arm, and his lunch basket in the opposite hand. He appeared fully rested, and perfectly put together, despite his goofy cow lick, and the fact that his glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, from him dropping them on accident quite frequently. Combeferre was a true morning person, and he seemed to be extra cheerful that morning.

"Good morning, mes amis! I had six cups of coffee this morning, so I'm really wide awake! I also have a cadaver dissection this morning, so I've barely eaten anything. You know, with my nervous stomach... Oh, I wish I could just go back to my moths," Combeferre sighed. The medical student was an avid collector of preserved insects. "But oh well! Onwards and upwards, I suppose." Enjolras smiled to himself. Combeferre was always the logical, sensible one, though he tended to be a tad bit of a homebody himself. The three of them made their way to the Sorbonne together, and then parted ways to their separate classes. Combeferre to the laboratories for his medic class, Courfeyrac to his philosophy class, and Enjolras to his law class.

Several other Amis were already in the classroom, and they turned and stared at Enjolras when he entered. The first of them, Marius Pontmercy, had a slightly suspicious look on his face. Enjolras suspected that Marius knew something about his evening activities, though how much, he wasn't quite sure. The other, Remy Grantaire, had a sloppy grin on his face. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and Grantaire was already completely plastered. To say he was surprised by that, however, would have been a complete lie on Enjolras' part. Grantaire, or R, as he was often referred to, was typically at some stage of intoxication during the day. Just how much alcohol depended on the time. R staggered his way down from his seat toward Enjolras. He threw an arm around his shoulders, and Enjolras could tell that R had been drinking absinthe. Then Enjolras recalled that it was Monday, and Mondays were R's absinthe days.

"G'morning, Constantine!" R slurred merrily, his messy, inky black curls falling into his eyes. Enjolras sighed and removed R's arm from his shoulders. "'Ey! Whatcha gotta do that for? I was jus' being friendly!" Enjolras continued to his favorite spot, now annoyed by the fact that R was not only intoxicated, but also called him by his first name. He suspected that it would be a very long day, judging by the disheveled appearance of Courfeyrac earlier, Marius' suspicious look, and R's advanced state of intoxication.

Matters only became worse after class, when he left the campus to grab a bite to eat for lunch. There was a small cafe, which was a reasonable walk away, but served hearty meals at reasonable prices if you were willing to make the hike there. The cafe was run by a small family, the Favreau's, who had three children: a son, Michel, who was about Enjolras' age, and two daughters, Marguerite, who was a year or so younger than Enjolras, and Claudette, who was barely ten. They were a very tight-knit family, and they all were hard workers. Michel helped his father run the cafe, and dealt with the business portions of it. Marguerite helped her mother in the kitchen, and Claudette would run small errands for them if they ran out of anything, or wanted to add a new dish or something. They were modest, and god-fearing individuals.

When Enjolras walked in that afternoon, the cafe was bustling as usual. Families, students, workers all filled tables, munching on Mme. Favreau's famous fresh bread, and drinking the wine from M. Favreau's small wine cellar. Marguerite was working the front that day, taking orders and serving drinks. Her auburn hair was braided down her back, and she was wearing a simple, blue cotton shift dress, with a white bodice. Enjolras gave her a small wave, just to be polite, and sat down at his usual table. It wasn't that he didn't find Marguerite attractive, she just... wasn't his type. She was much too wide-eyed and innocent. To most he would say he didn't even have a type, that his love was Patria, but he privately enjoyed more experienced women, who enjoyed more risqué acts in the bedroom... and Marguerite would not fit that description at all.

She made her way over to him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What can I get you today, Enjolras?" she questioned. "The usual, or are you going to try something new today?" Enjolras thought for a moment.

"It depends," he told her. "What's your mother making today?"

"Coq Au Vin, Lobster bisque, ratatouille, chicken and mushroom crepes, or cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce," she answered. "Take your pick." Enjolras was amused by her surprising sassiness.

"Hmm... I'll have the lobster bisque and the chicken and mushroom crepes, please."

"Coming right up!" Marguerite went to put the order in. Enjolras found himself watching her, and scolded himself for doing so. She was NOT his type. Besides, she was a poor, working-class girl. It would be odd of him to take a fancy toward her... Wouldn't it?

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**So as you can see, there is definitely some inward conflict and separate personalities to Enjolras... And what do you guys think of Marguerite? You'll learn a bit more about her later on...**

**Review please?**

**P.S.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! Some great feedback so far, and I'd love to get more! I love getting reviews and PM's, so don't be afraid to send them! **

**This chapter follows Marguerite, and we get a peek into her family life.**

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Marguerite was helping her mother close up for the night, when their neighbor, Athene, knocked on the back door. Mme. Favreau opened the door, and Athene breezed right past her to talk to Marguerite. Despite being good friends with Athene's daughter Marie, Marguerite didn't like Athene that much. She had a reputation of being a gossip and also being ridiculously nosy.

"You. Sit." Athene forced Marguerite to sit down at the small table. "Did you serve Constantine Enjolras at lunch today?" Marguerite sighed. Of course she had been snooping on their lunchtime customers.

"Yes, I did wait on him. Why?" she inquired. If she was going to get hassled for her work, she might as well know why. Athene smiled slightly.

"The gentleman seemed to take an interest in you... Do you have a new beau?" Marguerite blushed shyly. She did find Enjolras attractive, but he claimed not to have a type.

"No, Athene. He's just a regular. Gives good tips," Marguerite served herself some soup from a pot of it her mother had made for them. She sat back down at the table and began to eat, as Athene continued to talk.

"But he only gives good tips to you," Athene pointed out. Marguerite supposed that was true, but he was generous to her parents and siblings as well. Constantine was known for bringing Claudie a chocolate or some little treat once in a while.

Mme. Favreau sighed. "Athene, it's getting late. Margie needs to go up to bed." With that, she ushered Athene out the door. "Now, up to bed! You may be a young woman, but that doesn't mean you can stay up until the wee hours of the morning!"

Marguerite darted up the stairs, and went into her bedroom, which she shared with Claudie. Her little sister was awake and waiting for her, holding one of her favorite books close to her chest.

"Just let me change and undo my hair, Claudie, and then I'll read with you," Margie stated as she sat down at the worn vanity in the room. M. Favreau had bought it from an old woman who had no use for it anymore, and had given it to Margie for her fourteenth birthday. Margie took out her hairbrush, and untied the light blue ribbon that held her long braid in place. She gently undid the plaits, and then brushed out her hair. Margie did not count to one hundred, like most women, however. She just simply ran the brush through her hair, then changed into a simple white nightgown.

Claudie bounced eagerly in bed, handing Margie the book. Claudie was capable of reading, but preferred for Margie to read to her. Marguerite obliged, of course, because it brought her sickly little sister so much joy. Halfway through Sleeping Beauty, Claudie asked Margie a question.

"Margieeeee... Who's that man who always stares at you when you're working? Is he a prince?" questioned Claudie. Marguerite colored slightly, and closed the book gently.

"I'm afraid he's not, Claudie love. He would make a nice one, though, wouldn't he?" said Margie. Claudie nodded excitedly.

"Oui! He could be your prince, Margie! And you two could ride off together into the sunset, and live in a biggggg castle and have lots of babies and-"

Margie sighed. "Time for bed, Claudie. Perhaps you can dream about all those things and tell me about them in the morning." She climbed out of Claudie's bed and went over to the small, albeit cozy, bed that was hers, and fell asleep.

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**Really short chapter, I know, but I felt really bad for not updating in a while so hurried to get this out! **

**Review please?**

**~Class**


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